


the lamplight dice of the body

by torch



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle XII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:26:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torch/pseuds/torch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no use crying over dropped chocolate cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the lamplight dice of the body

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: sweet, sorrow, mark, skin, blossom, yearn

Hisoka was just about to get up; sitting here underneath the flowering cherry trees made him feel trapped, it made his skin crawl, it made him feel every line carved into his body. He started to turn on the graceful wrought-iron chair as he heard Tsuzuki coming, finally. Started to say something, excuses tripping over themselves on his tongue.

Then Tsuzuki tripped. Over himself, on his own feet, because a cherry blossom petal blew the wrong way, who could say, but he tripped and the small plate in his hand wobbled, tilting forward, and the piece of black forest gateau on the plate slid in an elegant arc and landed inside the collar of Hisoka's shirt.

"Oops!" Tsuzuki clapped a hand to his mouth and dropped the plate on the grass, for good measure, presumably.

Hisoka yanked the top button of his shirt open and took the wedge of cake out, feeling it leave sticky chocolate smears on his skin, glue itself to his fingers and palm. "Here," he said curtly, and Tsuzuki took it, getting his own hand just as sticky.

Tsuzuki bent down and picked the plate up with sudden eerie grace, not a movement wasted, and put the wedge of cake back, though it wasn't so much a wedge now as a lump. He put the plate on the small table and started to lick the chocolate and crumbs from his hand. From his fingers. It was innocent and obscene and it made Hisoka shudder, the way Tsuzuki's tongue wrapped so thoroughly around each fingertip.

"I have to go wash up," Hisoka said. He really did have to. The chocolate remains felt unpleasant on his skin, and if he didn't get rid of every trace, Tsuzuki might in a quest for sweet things decide to lick him in the same way, and he couldn't stand that. Couldn't bear it. Couldn't possibly.

"Wait," Tsuzuki said, pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a pop, and Hisoka tried to distract himself with thoughts of what Muraki would give to see that. Very bad, as distractions went. "You can't wear that when you get clean, it's all..." To Hisoka's shock and absolute horror, Tsuzuki wiped his spit-slicked fingers on Hisoka's already-soiled shirt. "I'll give you mine."

"What," Hisoka said weakly. Tsuzuki stripped out of his suit jacket, pulled off his crooked tie, and then took off his shirt. Two of the buttons were sewn on with red and yellow thread, Hisoka noticed.

Tsuzuki pushed his clean shirt into Hisoka's one clean hand. "Just don't let anyone catch you and make you go back to work," he said cheerfully. "We earned this afternoon off." His bare shoulders were smooth and broad, and his skin was... not flawless, but close enough. Hisoka drew a deep, hitching breath, turned, and ran.

The building wasn't that far away, through the trees, and he could use a side entrance and make his way to the nearest men's washroom without being seen by anyone. The washroom was empty. Hisoka hung Tsuzuki's shirt carefully on a hook on the wall and then slumped against the row of sinks. His chest hurt. After a while, he dully took his own shirt off, wet one of the sleeves, and steeled himself to look in the mirror.

Body of a skinny sixteen-year-old, with curse scars and chocolate. Well. Wasn't that nice.

Hisoka grimaced and started to wipe himself clean with the wet sleeve. At least the chocolate was something he could get rid of. He got some soap from the closest dispenser and scrubbed rather grimly until he was as clean as he was likely to get, and dried himself off with a dry, clean corner, and then with paper towels. The shirt was a mess, and he thought about just dropping it in the trash, but that would be wasteful. Maybe he could get the chocolate stains out.

Turning to the wall, Hisoka took Tsuzuki's shirt down. It would be too big, of course. He'd have to roll the sleeves up. And.

Unable to resist, Hisoka brought the shirt to his face and breathed in, then buried his face in it, just below the collar. His knees went weak. Oh. The shirt smelled like _Tsuzuki_ , like the kind of warm, unconditional embrace he'd only allowed himself to feel a very few times over the past years. And now he was going to put it on, walk around in it, this smell would be _on his skin_...

Hisoka trembled. He wasn't going to touch himself. Not like that, not with these thoughts in his mind. Instead, he applied cold water and colder thoughts. He was marked, soiled, spoiled, couldn't be touched, didn't want to be touched. When he finally put the shirt on, he held his breath, then snorted at himself and rolled the sleeves up. Too big. He didn't look in the mirror, knowing what he'd see, a boy in his older brother's clothes.

The hallway outside the washroom was still empty. Hisoka left the building by the same side door, and no impatient voice called him back to work more and harder, or try out a potion, or both. He walked out under the hated cherry trees with his back straight and his head held high. A breeze shook the branches, and a few pink petals drifted down to stick in his hair.

When Hisoka came back to the wrought-iron cafe table and chairs that someone had set out here a long time ago, Tsuzuki was sprawled in one of the chairs with his long legs stretched out, head tilted back, a smile on his face. He'd pulled the suit jacket back on, but somehow it made his bare chest look even more noticeable. The plate in front of him was empty, scraped clean.

He had a smear of chocolate on his cheek, and Hisoka tried really, really hard not to think about what it would be like to lick it off.


End file.
